


Going, Going, Gone

by reeby10



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, First Kiss, M/M, Minor Injuries, Slave auction, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 01:36:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13847307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reeby10/pseuds/reeby10
Summary: After Voldemort wins the war, those on the losing side are sold into slavery. The man who buys Ron is quite a surprise.





	Going, Going, Gone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheMightyFlynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMightyFlynn/gifts).



> Thanks to BE for the beta. And to mod fangqueen for being so so patient with me needing extensions. I had a lot of trouble with this for some reason. Apologies that this didn't make it to NC-17 like the request asked for :/

Ron watched as one by one, his classmates stepped out onto the stage and were sold off to the highest bidder. It made him furious to see this happening, rage seething just under the surface even though he tried his best to control it. His "handler" had told him someone would see that and want to to break him. He very much did not want that.

Finally it was his turn. His handler pushed him onto the stage from the wings where he stood, the magic dampening cuffs at his wrists and ankles jangling loudly with every step. He tried to keep the scowl off his face, but wasn't sure he was entirely successful.

The crowd jeered as he came into sight, same as they had done with all the others. Ron couldn't see who was out there, the lights set up to shine directly in his eyes. It was probably meant to keep him from seeing them as much as it was meant to show him off to them. Somehow, that made him hate this whole situation even more.

"Next up is a pureblood male, aged eighteen. Handlers warn of a fiery temper and possible violent outbursts against orders. We'll start the bidding with ten galleons," the auctioneer called from somewhere on the other side of the stage.

"Ten galleons," someone in the audience called. The man's voice was harsh and Ron could hear a few people chuckling in amusement. He was pretty sure he didn't want to be stuck with whoever that was.

"Do we have fifteen galleons?" the auctioneer asked.

It took a little longer than with the other auctions Ron had heard, but soon the bids picked up. He could feel his face getting redder with each one, fists held tightly against his sides. His less than demure attitude didn't seem to be putting many, if any, off bidding, but he knew that wasn't a good sign. He'd hoped for a quick buy by someone who would be lax enough to allow him to escape.

"We have 135 galleons, do I hear 140?" the auctioneer called.

There was silence for a few seconds more than usual, and Ron felt himself slump a little. The last bid was from the first man, the man Ron was sure was intending to break him.

"Very well," the auctioneer said. "135 going once, 135 going-"

"250 galleons."

A hush fell over the crowd, then Ron could hear them starting to whisper to each other. He squinted into the light, trying to see who had just bid on — and almost certainly won — him. There was something familiar about the voice, younger than any of the other bidders, but Ron couldn't quite place it.

"250 going once, 250 going twice," the auctioneer said, just the slightest hint in his voice that he was as surprised as everyone else. "Sold to Mr. Draco Malfoy."

Ron's jaw dropped. Well shit.

***

Ron waited in a room in the back for the auction to end, knee jiggling nervously, making the small space ring with the clanking of his chains. Thankfully there were only a few people to be sold after him, so he knew he wouldn't be waiting long. His mind was still spinning with the reality of what his life was now, owned by Draco Malfoy of all people.

Finally the lock clicked and the door swung open. Ron stood up wearily, watching as a figure stepped through. Malfoy looked as tired as Ron felt, which seemed strange. His side had won the war, after all.

Malfoy's eye caught on the bruise high on Ron's left cheek, a present from his handler when he wouldn't move quickly enough after being woken that morning. It hardly hurt, but then again, it was hardly the worst injury he'd received since the end of the war. There were many things worse than being smacked around a little.

He was alive, at least, even though he still wasn't sure that was a good thing. Harry, and many others, hadn't been so lucky. And those like Ron who had survived… Well, he just hoped that Hermione and the rest of his family were still alive too since he hadn't heard a thing since they'd been sold off.

"Are you ready?" Malfoy asked, interrupting his thoughts, and wow, he sounded exactly as obnoxiously smug as Ron remembered. Great.

Ron tried to remember what his handler had said about his attitude and being broken, so he followed along as obediently as he knew how. Which still included a lot of extra annoying jangling as he shuffled along, but Malfoy didn't have to know that. It felt good to have at least the illusion of rebellion.

***

Much to Ron's surprise, they didn't end up at the Malfoy manor. Apparently in the months since the end of the war, when all of monies and properties of the losing side were divied up, Malfoy had bought himself his own place away from his parents. Ron couldn't say he was disappointed not to have to come face to face with them every day, but it was still strange for it just to be the two of them in the large house.

The strangest thing, though, was how Ron was treated. He'd spent the last several weeks having it hammered into him that he was now a slave and that his new owner could treat him however they wanted. He was expecting beatings and withheld food and doing whatever work he was ordered to.

But that wasn't what happened at all. Malfoy was… nice, almost. When they first arrived at the house, he showed Ron a bedroom, small and plain but clean and comfortable, and that was almost the last Ron saw of him. Oh, they passed each other in the hallways occasionally and ended up eating together a couple times a week, but Malfoy left him alone. There were no orders to be carried out, no work to be done, no beatings, no yelling. No anything, really.

And that confused Ron. Why had Malfoy bought him if he didn't intend to have him do anything? Why spend so much on a slave that you were just going to ignore?

The question continued to haunt him as time went on and there seemed to be no change in Malfoy's demeanor. Ron was frustrated. He needed to know why.

His chance came a few days later. They were eating dinner together, something Malfoy had brought home from who knows where, just like every other day. Probably some ridiculously expensive restaurant in London.

"So," Ron said, finally breaking the awkward silence that always blanketed them whenever they happened to eat together. "Are,you ever going to tell me what you want?"

Malfoy startled, almost dropping his fork. He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You bought me," Ron replied, a bite to his words despite his attempts to stay calm. Malfoy could, after all, still be interested in breaking him. "And you haven't had me cook or clean or do whatever it is you want. You bought me and you're just ignoring me. So why did you buy me at all?"

"I-" Malfoy started, then paused, seemingly at a loss. There was an interesting flush of red on his pale cheeks and he cleared his throat, eyes darting away. "It was a whim. You never know when you'll need a slave about."

Ron snorted. While that might be true for Malfoy to an extent, he absolutely didn't believe that was the whole reason. "You expect me to believe that?" he asked.

"It's the truth," Malfoy replied stiffly. Ron snorted again and Malfoy rolled his eyes, looking even more uncomfortable. "Fine. I bought you because McNair was going to and no one deserves that. Not even a Weasley."

"Not even a Weasley," Ron mumbled, but he couldn't find it in himself to be truly annoyed. If McNair really had been the one that was planning to buy him, Malfoy had saved him from… Well, he wasn't sure exactly, but he knew it would have been terrible.

That Malfoy had saved him from a fate like that was almost nice. And that was certainly never something he'd thought about Malfoy before. Malfoys weren't known for being nice.

***

After that, Ron started to look at Malfoy differently. He couldn't help but watch Malfoy more closely, paying attention to how he acted and what he said. They still didn't spend much time together, but Ron wanted to make an effort for them to. He needed to know more.

There wasn't much to do in the house, especially when Malfoy wasn't home. Or when he was holed up in his room, doing whatever it was he did when he wanted to avoid Ron. The only time they spent together was the occasional meal, so Ron decided that was his best chance. He needed to learn how to cook.

That turned out to be easier said than done. Apparently it wasn't as easy as his mother had always made it seem, because his first few experiments went terribly. A week of working on it later, he was still sporting a burn on his arm because he'd never quite gotten the hang of healing spells and he had too much pride to ask Malfoy. It only smarted a little anyway. At least that was what he told himself.

But little by little, his cooking improved. By the time he could cook what he considered a passable meal, he decided it was time to actually try it out. He'd been cooking in the early afternoon, when Malfoy wasn't home, so he could hide the evidence. Now he'd try cooking for an actual meal. Who didn't like Yorkshire pudding and roast?

Malfoy seemed surprised when he came home to see a full meal on the table. Ron couldn't help the burst of pride at that. It felt a little like he'd gotten away with something, but it also felt a bit like a gift in a strange way.

"You… cooked?" Malfoy asked, stepping toward the table without taking his eyes from the food. "You know you don't… Just because you're a slave doesn't mean you have to do this."

Ron shrugged, suddenly self conscious and a little defensive. He hadn't viewed it that way at all, hadn't even thought about it. He'd just seen cooking as his way to find out more about Malfoy. He'd done it because he wanted to.

"You don't have to eat it if you don't want to," Ron told him, trying to fight down the flush of embarrassment fighting to take over his face.

"I didn't say that," Malfoy snapped back, but there wasn't any heat to the words.

He seemed utterly amazed to see the food, like he'd never seen a home cooked meal before. Ron considered that, then wondered if that was it exactly. Maybe Malfoy never _had_ seen a home cooked meal. He'd grown up with house elves cooking for him at home and at Hogwarts, and Narcissa didn't seem the type to have done any cooking herself.

"Then don't be so grumpy about it," Ron finally replied. He gestured to the food. "So are we going to eat or what?"

They did, eventually, though they continued to snipe at each other for the rest of the meal. It was the most they'd spoken since Ron had been bought though, so he didn't fight it. Maybe it would give him insight into why Malfoy continued to be so different than what he remembered from school.

Now, he was almost pleasant to talk to. Which honestly just made Ron's entire situation all the stranger. He'd wanted to hate Malfoy like he had before, especially after being bought by him, but it was getting harder to. Maybe because Malfoy was the only one he had to talk to. Maybe because he was discovering that Malfoy wasn't so bad after all.

***

After that, they started eating together almost every night.Then every night. Ron noticed that Malfoy started coming home a little sooner as well. It was kind of… nice.

It took a week for Ron to notice how much he was looking forward to having dinner with Malfoy. He wasn't surprised to enjoy it since it was the only time he got to see another person, but it was more than that. He was pretty sure he liked _Malfoy_.

The revelation felt a little like a kick in the face. He wasn't supposed to like a Malfoy in any way, and especially not like _that_. Weasleys and Malfoys were enemies, had been for generations. And here he was making dinner for a Malfoy every night and _liking_ it. He ought to be horrified.

Somehow, though, he wasn't. Life had changed so much during the war, and even more afterward. He didn't feel like the same person anymore, and neither did Malfoy. The world had changed and so had they. Ron knew the changes weren't all good, but somehow he felt like this one might be. If only he knew if Malfoy felt the same.

That thought remained on his mind as he cooked the next night. He and Malfoy talked more now, sure, but it was difficult to figure out exactly what Malfoy was thinking. Ron had never been good at seeing other people's interest anyway. So he'd just have to wait and see what happened.

Unfortunately, waiting was exactly what he ended up doing. Dinner was on the table at the usual time, but for some reason Malfoy wasn't. Sometimes Malfoy got held up at work, whatever it was he did for work, but it was rarely for long. Ron didn't worry until half an hour late became an hour late became almost two hours late. That wasn't normal.

The food had long since gone cold since Ron hadn't thought to put any warming charms on it, so he decided to just put the food away in order to distract him. They could always get it out and heat it up.

With the food put away and nothing else to distract him, though, Ron began to worry in earnest. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on in the wizarding world anymore. Things had been bad when he was captured, and he was fairly certain it hadn't gotten any better. Maybe things were better for Malfoy, on the winning side, but that didn't count for much in Ron's opinion. Voldemort and his Death Eaters were still in charge after all.

Somewhere between the pacing the dining room and the sitting at the empty table with horrible scenarios running through his mind, Ron must have fallen asleep. A noise somewhere outside the room woke him all of a sudden and he sat up, almost falling from his seat. He looked around blearily, trying to figure out what was happening.

"Sorry," came a rough, tired voice from behind him. "I thought you'd be in bed by now."

Ron whipped around to see Malfoy standing in the doorway. Or more accurately, leaning in the doorway. He looked the worse for wear, one side of his robes ripped almost entirely off at the shoulder and a smudge of what looked like blood on his bruse darkened cheek. All in all, he looked like he'd been in one hell of a fight.

"Merlin's balls, what happened to you?" Ron blurted out before he could think better of it. He scrambled from his seat, all traces of sleep gone, and headed over to Malfoy.

Malfoy gave him a smile that was more of a grimace. "Bit of a riot broke out," he said, and Ron was surprised enough by that to let out a snort of laughter. "I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I'm fine, mostly."

"Like hell you are," Ron muttered, doing his best to look Malfoy over for injuries. He'd never wished he was better at healing spells more than now.

"It's just a bit of bruising, really." His eyes narrowed a little as he pushed himself off the door jam, eyeing Ron carefully. "Weasley," he said slowly, like he was just realizing something. "Were you worried about me?"

Ron felt his cheeks heat as he tried to stutter out a refusal. Malfoy obviously didn't believe him at all, an almost predatory smile growing on his face. Ron knew he was fucked.

"You were worried about me. So worried you stayed up all night waiting for me," Malfoy said very deliberately.

He stepped forward as Ron stepped back, until Ron backed into the table, leaving Malfoy bracketing him in. It was a strangely intimate position despite Ron's lingering worry. That was his only excuse for the way he just stopped thinking and kissed Malfoy square on the mouth.

For a long moment, Ron thought he was going to be cursed into oblivion. It might be preferable, actually, after humiliating himself like this. But he hadn't known what to do, hadn't been able to think straight after worrying so long about what could possibly have happened to Malfoy to keep him away.

Then, amazingly, Malfoy started kissing back. One of them — Ron wasn't sure who, but he had a feeling it was him — let out a groan as both of Malfoy's hands came up, trying to pull him closer. Ron could smell a faint hint of blood, but it couldn't put a damper on the fact that he was finally, amazingly, kissing Malfoy.

Eventually they pulled away, though not too far. Ron felt like his heart was about to beat out of his chest, but he also felt far happier than he had in a long, long time. He was having a hard time believing that this was all real.

"Are you alright?" Malfoy asked, his voice surprisingly soft.

Ron let out a huff. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?" he said, smiling when Malfoy gave him the stink eye. "Yeah… Yeah, I think I am."

"Good."

Malfoy looked a little lost for what else to say, so Ron leaned in and kissed him again, short and sweet. It left them both smiling afterward, which Ron considered a big improvement from the worry earlier. He knew there would be more worrying later, about what they wanted and what they were doing. But for now, he thought, just this was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> **This work is part of an ongoing fest.**
> 
> Please feel free to leave love/comments for the artist either here, [on LJ](https://ron-draco-fest.livejournal.com/), or [DW](https://ron-draco-fest.dreamwidth.org/).
> 
>  
> 
> Concrit welcome. If you like my fic, feel free to come hit me up [on tumblr](http://voldiebuns.tumblr.com/)!


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